


Sum of Our Parts

by bedlamsbard



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Gen, background kanan/hera, post-ep call to action
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-16
Updated: 2015-02-16
Packaged: 2018-03-13 06:02:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3370538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bedlamsbard/pseuds/bedlamsbard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That was when Kanan knew he had to make them kill him.  Post-ep for "Call to Action."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sum of Our Parts

Kanan had avoided thinking about Imperial detention facilities before except when absolutely necessary, largely because he had spent more than half his life believing that he wouldn’t live long enough to end up in one – or that he would kill himself rather than do so. He still wasn’t entirely certain that he shouldn’t have done so. But suicide wasn’t the way of the Jedi, and the thought hadn’t crossed his mind until it was too late. And killing himself – or making the stormtroopers kill him – wouldn’t have solved anything. What had happened to Luminara Unduli had made it pretty clear that the Empire didn’t even need a living Jedi to bait a trap.

_Force save me, not that, anything but that –_

“Anything” might be too hasty a wish to make at this point. Kanan was pretty sure that there were some things the Imps could do to him that would make him long for Luminara’s fate.

_Face it, you should have made them kill you. It would have been kinder to everyone in the long run._

He lifted his head a little to look around the small bare cell, even that small motion making his abused body scream protest. It didn’t look any different than it had the last time he had bothered glancing around, except for the smear of dried blood on the floor where he had been thrown after the Imps had taken him out for another round of interrogation. Kanan had dragged himself over to huddle against the nearest wall, not liking the exposed feeling of being near-unconscious in the center of the room. Being near-unconscious with something to put his back against was preferable, for a stretch on the definition of the word.

The red running lights lining the place where the ceiling met the walls glared at him like the Inquisitor’s yellow eyes. Kanan raised his head a little more, trying to drag his scattered thoughts together enough to make a threat assessment. _Security cameras in each corner. Stormies outside the door_ – two that he had seen when they had been brought him back, dragging him because he hadn’t been able to walk that time. _More at the end of the corridor. Security droids on regular patrol._ And the door itself, of course, which was twenty centimeters of blast-resistant durasteel. A lightsaber would be able to cut through it, but it would take a while, and if the door itself was destroyed or opened without the proper security codes then a ray shield would spring into place. And it wasn’t like Kanan had a lightsaber anyway.

Besides, even if he could get past the door and the guards and the security droids, it didn’t help with the fact that he was – as far as he was aware – in the middle of the Imperial Complex, which was neck-deep in stormtroopers, TIE pilots, and every other breed of Imperial there was, including the Inquisitor.

He let his chin drop back to his chest, ignoring the spike of pain the motion sent up through his neck. _Yeah, Kanan, you should have made them kill you. It isn’t like you’re not living on borrowed time anyway._

How long had it been? There were no windows that would have allowed him to track the passage of time, and besides that there were long intervals that he had lost entirely. It could have been anywhere from hours to days to weeks.

Wincing, Kanan rubbed his fingers over his jaw. He was pretty sure it hadn’t been weeks, at least; he doubted the Imps were interested in trimming his beard just to mess with him. He hoped that it had been long enough that the others weren’t under any delusions about rescuing him. He was certain that Hera could keep Zeb and Sabine from doing anything rash, but it would be hard on Ezra. It had been hard on him, fifteen years ago.

_You shouldn’t have brought him into this. You should have known better than to bring someone into this life, especially someone who can’t understand what it means, what the risks are – you should have let him be._

To a life like the one Ezra had been living? What would he have become then?

_Alive._

Jedi didn’t live, not anymore. Now Jedi just died. He had condemned Ezra to a death sentence the moment he had made that offer.

Kanan tipped his forehead down against his knees and rubbed a thumb over his left eye. _Leave, Hera,_ he thought. _Please, leave. Don’t stay on this world, and don’t come for me. Get them out of here. Get yourself out of here._

He’d lost everything and everyone else. Let him save them, at least.

*

He must have fallen asleep at some point, because he jerked back to wakefulness as the cell door slid open. If Kanan had been capable of doing so, he would have gotten to his feet, to meet them standing at the very least, but as it was he managed to raise his head a little before he was yanked upright by two stormtroopers. They dragged him the stairs and out into the corridor; Kanan couldn’t find the energy to struggle, and their grips were too tight for him to do so much as throw an elbow.

Tarkin, Kallus, the Inquisitor, and, for a change, Minister Tua were waiting for him in the interrogation room when the stormies dragged him in. Kanan took a certain amount of pleasure in noting how uncomfortable the minister looked before he was slammed back against the frame, the straps pulled so tightly against his chest that it was a struggle to take each breath.

“Hey, guys,” he managed to say, the words rasping at his too dry throat. “You miss me already? I’m touched.”

They ignored him. Tarkin stepped forward, the interrogation droid floating beside him. “Your continued obstinacy does you no good, rebel,” he said.

Kanan bared his teeth. “Get used to it,” he said.

“I think not.” The interrogation droid floated a little closer, and Kanan couldn’t keep from eyeing it warily. “We will try something new today. You may be familiar with this drug in its recreational form; I believe it is called –”

He paused, and Agent Kallus supplied, “Dreamweaver.”

That was when Kanan knew he had to make them kill him.

Panic cleared the fog from his head and made his grip on the Force strong. The interrogation droid went flying backwards, striking Tarkin in the chest and carrying him along with it; Kanan jerked his chin up and the blaster carbine went spinning out of the nearest stormtrooper’s hands, barely missing Kallus before he ducked aside, pulling Tua down with him. The other stormtrooper was raising his blaster before Kanan grabbed at him with the mind, throwing his head sideways and the man along with it. For half a heartbeat everything felt blissfully, beautifully clear; Kanan felt the locks on the straps holding him in place start to open, and even though he knew he couldn’t run, the idea of escape flitted through his mind, tantalizingly close.

Then the Force closed around his throat, pressing him back against the frame. Kanan gritted his teeth as the Inquisitor came close, one hand outstretched as he held Kanan in place. “A fine attempt,” he said. “It is to be admired.”

“Go to hell,” Kanan said through clenched teeth.

He saw Tarkin get to his feet, brushing dust off his uniform jacket. The interrogation droid came close, and despite the Inquisitor’s mental grip and his own pride Kanan couldn’t help trying to lean away from it. He felt the needle pierce the skin of his neck, and then everything went black.

*

“Master, I don’t understand,” Caleb Dume said as he and his master made their way through the corridors of the Jedi Temple. “If the rebels are fighting the Separatist occupation, then why aren’t we helping them? Isn’t that our duty as Jedi, as soldiers of the Republic?”

Depa Billaba raised a dark eyebrow in response. “You say ‘Jedi’ and ‘soldier of the Republic’ as if they mean the same thing, my padawan.”

Caleb frowned. “But we are,” he said. “Soldiers of the Republic. I mean, it doesn’t mean the same thing because it’s not like the clones are Jedi, and not all the Jedi are soldiers, but most of us are.”

Depa considered him silently, and Caleb flushed under the intensity of her attention. He was a slender human boy of about fourteen, with amber-colored skin and dark brown hair over sharp features. Depa and the other masters in the Temple who knew about that kind of thing had promised him that it was the kind of slightness that would grow into height and bulk, but at the moment Caleb still felt dwarfed by both his agemates and the other Jedi in the Temple, let alone the clones nominally under his command.

“There were Jedi on Onderon when they were fighting the Separatist occupation,” he went on after a moment. “Why is Lothal any different? Why shouldn’t we help the rebels?”

“They aren’t rebels, my padawan,” Depa said. “Right now they’re terrorists fighting against their lawful government, which just happens to be the Separatists.”

“But the Separatists aren’t a lawful government!” Caleb protested. “They weren’t accepted by the people of Lothal – nobody wanted them there.”

“Do not let the actions of a few extremists speak for the many, my padawan. It’s easy to be fooled by a handful of outspoken individuals when their clamor is all you can hear, but do not mistake it for the truth.”

“But that doesn’t mean it can’t be the truth, Master. What if the rebels are the only ones brave enough to speak out against the Seppies?”

“Don’t worry yourself with what-ifs, Caleb. You should know better than to hesitate before you strike.”

Caleb frowned, but followed her into the Temple War Room anyway. At the moment it was empty, no other Jedi present. An image of the planet Lothal was projected above the holotable, with red markers indicating the Separatist military installations onworld and the blockade around it. Green markers showed the known sightings of the rebels.

“Where are they now, my padawan?” Depa asked, resting her hands on the side of the holotable.

Caleb prowled around the holotable, studying the holoimage. “They have a ship,” he said eventually. “There are – what, six of them? So it’s probably a light freighter. They could live in that. They don’t need to have a base.” He chewed on his lip, crossing his arms over his chest. “But they have to buy supplies – food, fuel, ammunition. I know they’ve been stealing some of it, but they can’t steal all of it.”

He made another slow circuit of the holotable, aware of Depa’s sharp eyes on him as he did so. “They must be close to Lothal City,” he added finally. “They’d want to be, since there are things they can only do there – they could have the greatest impact there. But they can’t be docking in the city itself. Probably near the outskirts of one of the outlying villages.”

“Very good, padawan,” Depa said. “Which one?”

Caleb tapped the controls to make the image zoom in to the area surrounding the capital city. “They’d want to be away from regular Separatist patrols,” he said. “So they’re not going to be near any of the secure installations or military bases. And they’re not going to be in the village itself, probably not even within sight of it, but still close to get there quickly. And it has to be a village large enough that they can get the supplies they need. These are too small.” He dismissed the villages he had indicated with a flick of his wrist, which still left a dozen suitable establishments.

“What do your feelings tell you, my padawan?”

Caleb closed his eyes, concentrating on the Force. “They’re –”

An explosion sent him rocking forward against the holotable.

Caleb had been in the Jedi Temple when the bombing had occurred, and while he hadn’t been in the hangar bay where it had happened, he and Depa had been just outside, close enough to feel it, close enough to be thrown off their feet by the force of his explosion. His first confused thought was that it had happened again, deeper inside the Temple where a bomb going off would do far more damage than it had done in the hangar bay. _But they caught her, they caught the bomber –_

He had a moment’s impression of a clatter of deep male voices that were at odds with the nearly empty War Room, then that faded, and when he raised his head again he wasn’t in the Temple anymore.

He was at the GAR complex on Coruscant.

For some reason it didn’t strike him as at all odd that he should be here. It was near sunset on this side of the planet, and he and Depa were making their way across the landing platform towards the front entrance. Their next assignment was to a desert planet, and that required making sure that they had the equipment they needed, that all their troops had the necessary equipment and that they didn’t get landed with walkers that would get bogged down in all the sand and have to be abandoned. It was easier to do all that in person than it was via hologram, especially since they were onworld now.

They were halfway across the landing platform when Depa suddenly stopped, cocking her head to one side. She said, “Mace –” and then gasped, her hand flying to her mouth.

Caleb turned towards her. “Master?” he said. “Master, what’s wrong?”

“Something’s happened to Mace,” Depa said, distracted, and turned around, heading back towards their speeder so quickly that she was nearly running. Caleb trotted after her, reaching out into the Force to try and discern what she had sensed. All he could feel was darkness, the kind he had never felt before, stretching out like a storm front to devour all it touched. Caleb faltered a little in the face of that terrible shadow, trying to drag himself out of the Force –

Blasterfire shattered the peace of the evening.

Depa grabbed Caleb by the shoulder and threw him into the speeder, nearly wrenching his arm out of the joint in the process. He hit the backseat and rolled awkwardly before ending up in the footspace as Depa vaulted into the driver’s seat, reaching for the controls –

The Force didn’t give him any warning, none at all, but Caleb saw the anti-aircraft batteries swing around to aim at them. “Master!”

He and Depa barely cleared the speeder before the laser blasts struck it, sending them flying with the force of the explosion. Caleb hit the ground with the shoulder that Depa had nearly dislocated a few moments earlier, staggering to his feet and reaching automatically for his lightsaber. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Depa doing the same and ran towards her, trying to figure out who was shooting at them.

Out of the smoke of the destroyed speeder he saw the familiar shape of armored clone troopers come running towards them, blasters raised. _That’s good, they can help find the shooter –_

Instinct and experience warned him before his conscious mind could do so, his lightsaber igniting in a streak of blue plasma to deflect the blaster bolts the clones were shooting at them. _Those are our own men!_

“Padawan, run!” Depa ordered, her own blade humming in her fist. Caleb caught the thread of her intention in the Force and turned to do so, glad beyond the telling of it for the months of experience that kept him deflecting blasterfire even as he sprinted across the landing platform, Depa just behind him.

He was vaguely aware of gunships rising up off the landing platform behind them, their lights sweeping over the space. Caleb put his head down and barreled forward, nothing clear in his mind except _escape_.

Up ahead of him he could see the stairs leading to the maintenance walkways over the industrial pipeline. Grabbing for the Force, Caleb leapt, clearing the entire flight in a single bound and spinning as he did so to deflect the spray of blasterfire that followed him. Depa did the same, landing on the walkway that ran parallel to the one he was on. He was aware of her out of the corner of his eye as he ran, listening to the whine of the gunships closing on them. He turned his head to see one of them falling in beside him, the doors open and clones aiming at him. Caleb threw himself into a backflip just as the walkway in front of him exploded, landing in a crouch a few meters back with shrapnel stinging his face.

He launched himself upwards without any time to think about it, grabbing for the top of the LAAT/i with his free hand as he landed on top of the gunship, one leg flailing wildly in front of the open door. A hand closed on his ankle and Caleb nearly fell; he kicked out, hysteria and the Force lending him strength as the clone overbalanced and slipped out of the ship. Caleb clawed at the top of the gunship as the weight of the man threatened to drag him off. He could feel the gunship’s pilot trying to compensate, and jerked his leg again, then twisted and slashed with his lightsaber, trying not to look as he felt the weight vanish, the clone falling with a scream that echoed for a long time.

Caleb deactivated his lightsaber and pulled himself up to the top of the gunship, holding on for dear life as the pilot jinked and juked the ship, trying to unseat him. He couldn’t see Depa – couldn’t see anything except the dirty white top of the ship. But at least he knew they wouldn’t shoot at him up here. He was pretty sure that they wouldn’t shoot at him up here.

He dragged himself up along the spine of the gunship until he was just behind the transparisteel bubble of the gunner’s cockpit. Gritting his teeth, Caleb ignited his lightsaber and plunged it downwards, shattering the transparisteel. He saw the gunner glance up just before Caleb reached down and grabbed him with his free hand, using the Force more than his own strength to pull the clone out of the cockpit and toss him aside.

The ship jinked again, violently, and Caleb slipped and nearly lost his balance before catching himself on the side of the cockpit. He could see the pilot in the forward cockpit craning his head to try and see him, the ship moving unevenly beneath him. Caleb pulled himself up again, pain flashing through his hand where he’d grabbed the shattered transparisteel, then the pilot rolled them sideways and Caleb lost his grip.

He fell, shouting in instinctive panic, and barely managed to soften his landing with the Force before he hit one of the massive pipes and bounced off the side, his lightsaber flying out of his hand and deactivating. Caleb lay stunned for a moment, staring up at the lights of the gunships crisscrossing the sky. He could hear the heavy tread of clone troopers running towards him, and knew that he needed to get up, to retrieve his lightsaber and find Depa –

Someone grabbed his arm.

“Kanan!” 

Caleb blinked. The Coruscant skyline resolved itself into the purple face of a Lasat staring down at him, though the speaker was a boy about his own age, his grip so tight on Caleb’s arm that it felt bruising.

“Who’s Kanan?” he mumbled.

“Hurry up!” a girl’s voice warned. “We don’t have much time!”

The Lasat ripped the straps off him and Caleb stumbled forward, landing on his hands and knees on a hard concrete floor. Both the Lasat and the boy crouched down beside him immediately.

“Kanan!” the boy said again, leaking distress in the Force. He tried to hand Caleb something; Caleb took it automatically and realized it was his lightsaber.

“Can you walk?” the Lasat asked him.

Caleb tried to get to his feet and almost fell over before the Lasat caught him.

“Guys!” the girl warned. Caleb saw her as the Lasat hauled him up, a slim figure in brightly-painted Mandalorian style armor, half in and half out of the room with a blaster pistol in each hand.

“Who are you?” Caleb said. “Where are we? Where’s Master Depa?”

He felt their stunned shock resonate through the Force, then the Lasat said, “Long story.”

“We’re friends,” said the boy quickly. “I’m Ezra, he’s –”

“No time for introductions!” said the girl. “We have to go!”

Blasterfire rattled through the hallway and Caleb flinched instinctively, fumbling for the proper grip on his lightsaber.

“Sorry about this,” said the Lasat, then picked him up and flung Caleb over his shoulder.

Caleb yelped half in instinctive surprise and half in pain, agony arcing through his abused body. The Lasat took off, Caleb bouncing against his back as he ran. He saw the boy and the Mandalorian girl following them, both firing as they ran. Caleb twisted to try and see what they were shooting at, biting back a gasp of pain, but could only see flashes of white armor. Clones?

“Stop moving!” the Lasat barked, then, presumably into a comlink, “Hera, we’ve got him, but we’re going to need a quick exit.”

 _“I’m on it.”_ It was a woman’s voice. Caleb had the vague impression that he should have been able to recognize it, but when he tried to connect a face and a name to it he came up blank. Another Jedi?

They tore through corridors that Caleb only caught the faintest glimpses, under heavy fire that made him itch to demand to be put down so that he could ignite his lightsaber and help. When they finally burst out into open air he wasn’t expecting it.

 _“Hurry!”_ said the woman over the Lasat’s comlink. _“I see you!”_

Blasterfire from one side clipped both Caleb and the Lasat, who let out a roar of shocked pain and let go of Caleb. Caleb hit the ground and rolled, managing to keep his grip on his lightsaber despite the pain singing through his right shoulder.

“Kanan!” said the Mandalorian girl, holstering one of her pistols as she ran to him and did her best to pull him upright. Caleb pushed himself to his feet, grabbing her outstretched forearm for support.

He felt like he _almost_ recognized the ship that was hovering just above the landing platform, the ramp extended. The Lasat had just boosted the other boy up onto it and was looking around for them; as Caleb came limping over he wrapped an arm around his waist, muttered a quick apology, and threw him onto the ramp. The girl followed a moment later, then the Lasat pulled himself in, rolling as the ramp closed behind him.

Caleb lay where he had fallen, breathing hard and trying to think through his agony. He felt the ship sway beneath him, the muffled boom of anti-aircraft fire that the ship jinked and juked to avoid. It was a relief when he finally felt them break atmosphere and jump to lightspeed.

He let his head thump back against the hard metal deck. The lightsaber hilt under his palm was reassuringly familiar, even if everything else was strange.

“Kanan!” It was the boy again, scrambling towards him. “Kanan, do you know who I am?”

“Does he know who _he_ is?” the Lasat asked, looming up behind the boy.

Caleb’s head was swimming. He saw their faces blur in front of him, and had to shut his eyes, nauseated. Nothing felt right. He wasn’t supposed to be here, he was supposed to be –

– there was blasterfire all around him, the LAAT/i’s gunners shooting heedless of the massive pipes on either side of him. Caleb hauled himself to his feet as laser bolts darkened the concrete on either side of him, flinging his hand out to grab the lightsaber he had dropped when he fell. He ignited it the moment it slapped into his palm and looked around frantically.

“Master!”

Where was Depa? She had to be here, Caleb could – he could – Force help him, she had to be here!

“Caleb!”

“Master!” A lightsaber hummed into existence above him, and Caleb looked up to the nearest walkway to see Depa standing on it, her green lightsaber ignited in her fist. She held out a hand to him. “Come on!”

“Caleb!” That was – that wasn’t – 

“Master?”

“Caleb, you have to wake up!”

That wasn’t Depa Billaba’s voice.

“Caleb!”

“Who the hell is Caleb?” a gruff voice said.

He blinked, the image of Depa dissolving even as he tried to back up to get a running start on his jump to reach her. “Master Depa,” he groaned, and then gradually became aware of a pair of small female hands on his shoulders, their grip achingly familiar. “Hera?”

She put her forehead down against his, her lekku drooping on either side of her face as she gasped out a sound of pure relief. Kanan, wincing, raised a hand to pat her awkwardly on the back.

“I thought you knew better than to come for me,” he said, almost against her mouth.

Hera raised her head to glare at him. “Then you’re an idiot, Kanan Jarrus.”

“You knew that already.” He tried to sit up and failed, his head falling back against the deck with a clunk that sent pain arcing through his skull. Instead he patted Hera’s hip in a reassuring kind of way; she was straddling his chest, holding him determinedly in place with both hands on his shoulders. Kanan had never been so glad to see anyone in his entire life.

Ezra, Zeb, and Sabine all peered over her shoulders, with Chopper beside them making irritated whirring noises.

“Are you all right?” Ezra asked.

“No,” Kanan grimaced. He pressed his left index finger and thumb together. “I’m still this close to being so high I could practically achieve orbit if you spaced me.”

“Who’s Caleb?” Sabine asked.

Belatedly, Hera climbed off him and sat down beside him. Kanan tried to sit up again, failed, and settled for leaning his head against her hip instead, feeling her fingers card through his loose hair. “I am. It’s a long story.” He finally succeeded in making himself let go of his lightsaber, unclenching his fingers from around the hilt and letting it roll against his thigh. “Maybe I’ll tell it to you sometime.”

“Some other time,” Hera said.

“Yeah,” Kanan said, and closed his eyes. “Some other time.”

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to resist the urge to write a post-ep for "Call to Action" in favor of waiting until "Rebel Resolve" actually aired, but having Caleb tackle a gunship was too much fun to resist.


End file.
